


Last Rites

by Vulnerasti_Cor_Meum



Category: The Goblin Emperor - Katherine Addison
Genre: Guilt, M/M, Non-Penetrative Sex, Prison Sex, Rape, Rituals, Shame, debasing a priest, unwanted arousal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-03-14 13:12:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13590762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vulnerasti_Cor_Meum/pseuds/Vulnerasti_Cor_Meum
Summary: While in the Nevennamire, Shulivar asks for last rites before his execution. Thara Celehar is the one who goes to perform them for him. It does not go the way it ought...





	Last Rites

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Island_of_Reil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Island_of_Reil/gifts).



“We would not ask this of you, Mer Celehar.” The emperor looked at once exasperated and concerned.

That only strengthened Thara’s resolve. “We know, Serenity,” he said. “And that is why we are offering.”

It was pure chance that Thara had been in brief conversation with Edrehasivar in the halls of the Untheileneise’meire when the errand boy from the Nevennamire had arrived, bearing news that one of the Curneise prisoners had requested last rites before his execution on the morrow. The prelate of Ulis usually assigned such tasks was infirm with the fever that had been making its way through the Alcethmeret, and was on bedrest.

Though the task was not one Thara would relish, he could not let pass the chance to directly be of service to Edrehasivar once more in the wake of what he still considered his failure in the handling of the Curneise-Tethimadeise conspiracy.

“And if you are recognized?” the emperor said, the bright opaline jewels in his ears jingling as his ears dipped ever so slightly. “The Curneise know you, Mer Celehar; we cannot help but be concerned for your safety.”

Thara’s eyes widened slightly, surprised at how much the emperor’s compassion could yet shock him, especially when directed at himself. He gave Edrehasivar a small smile and shook his head. “Serenity, we thank you for your concern, but a cleric of Ulis performing last rites is simply there to listen on behalf of the god. We will not speak and our face will be behind the moon mask. There will be nothing to recognize us by.”

The dubious look on the emperor’s face prompted Thara to continue. “Please, Serenity.”

Edrehasivar searched Thara’s face and must have seen the stubbornness in his expression, for he sighed, and then nodded. “All right. Thank you, Mer Celehar. We are sure whoever shall receive your services is in good hands.”

 

An hour later, Thara had readied himself and was making his way down the narrow halls beneath the Alcethmeret to the Nevennamire. He knocked on the door to the guard room and gave a silent bow to the duty officer who answered and let him in. Corporal Ishilar welcomed him readily enough, but the way his eyes darted at and away from rather than settling upon the blank, pale moon mask and dark robes Thara wore made it clear that his presence made him uneasy.

As Corporal Ishilar led Thara to the heavy iron door on the far side of the rounded room the raucous voices of the men playing a late hand of cards faded to a hush as they passed. Thara could feel the men’s eyes on him, though they pretended to be studying their cards.

“This way. The prisoner Shulivar has requested last rites,” Corporal Ishilar said as he brusquely unlocked the door.

The surprise Thara felt at that revelation was hidden behind his mask. Of all the prisoners, he’d thought it would be Bralchenar who might seek to ease his conscience before going to meet Ulis. Shulivar, along with Narchenazhen, seemed not to hold much religious conviction, his conviction instead reserved for his Curneise doctrine and extremist socio-political ideations.

Neither Thara nor Corporal Ishilar exchanged any further words as they walked the corridors of the Nevennamire proper toward Shuilvar’s cell. The old prison was somewhat of a maze, with rows of cells off many branching halls, all fashioned of close-fitting stone and thick iron bars. He heard curses spat at himself and Ishilar as they passed by, heard the rattle of chains, and once, faintly, weeping. Thara found himself grateful that the eye slits in his moon mask permitted only a very narrow field of vision, for it kept him focused on what lay ahead.

Shulivar’s cell was in a far-off and seemingly little-used part of the Nevennamire, colder and darker and damper than the parts closer to the guard room. As further punishment for his crimes, Thara wondered? As a way to keep him contained, should he somehow manage to escape his cell? The Nevennamire was so labyrinthine, Thara imagined he himself would need assistance finding his way back out again.

“Look alive, Shulivar. The cleric of Ulis is here for your last rites,” Ishilar said gruffly as they approached.

As Corporal Ishilar sorted through the keys on his ring to unlock the cell, Thara observed their surroundings. A gas lamp shone into the cell from the wall directly across from it. Shulivar was seated on a rough-hewn wooden bench within the cell, one leg clearly shackled to a chain embedded in the wall behind it. A chamber pot rested in the far corner, also secured to prevent its being moved by anyone other than the one carrying the keys. No other comforts had been provided.

Though Shulivar was dressed plainly in shabby pants and shirt of undyed, rough cotton, and he was unwashed and somewhat gaunt from many days of subsisting on whatever mean rations the guards saw fit to give him, Thara could not help noticing that he still posed a striking figure. He had kept himself as neatly as he could under the circumstances. And he was tall and lean, attractively built. Intelligent blue eyes shone with curiosity as he looked right back at Thara, examining him as he was being examined.

The cell door groaned on its hinges as Corporal Ishilar opened it. He stepped aside to permit Thara entrance and then followed him in, closing the heavy barred door with a jarring clang behind himself.

Thara’s brows lifted. Turning his face toward Ishilar, he tilted his head in question so that even behind the mask the corporal should understand his concern. Surely Ishilar knew the normal proceedings of the last rites of Ulis; as a duty officer he had to have brought a cleric to prisoners who’d requested such a service before.

Ishilar nodded toward Shulivar. “You may proceed.”

Anger and disbelief flashed in Thara’s eyes behind his mask. Apparently Ishilar was not one to stand on ceremony. 

Thara was. He shook his head and held out a hand in a gesture that indicated Corporal Ishilar could see himself out.

Ishilar did not take the hint. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest and seemed to settle in like an immovable boulder right before the cell door. His shadow cast formidably into the chamber. 

Thara gave a heavy sigh. He did not wish to break his silence, but it would be an even greater offense to Ulis to make Shulivar give his last confessions in the presence of one not consecrated to the god.

“Corporal, you may go,” Thara said, his graveled voice sounding much harsher and louder in the close and quiet chamber than he wished it to. Behind his mask, he winced. Little as he had spoken in Shulivar’s presence while in Amalo, he knew his voice was rather unique.

Ishilar shifted in place, but did not move to leave. “This prisoner is too dangerous for that. We’ll be standing guard while you work.”

“With respect, he remains chained,” Thara said, mustering a patience he did not feel. “Last rites are between a man and the god; they are not for the ears of others.” He gestured toward the door again. “Please.”

Shulivar, for his part, watched this exchange in interested silence. In the darkness his glittering eyes locked with Ishilar’s. It was Ishilar who looked away first.

“Fifteen minutes,” the Corporal said to Thara. “Then we’ll return. And we’d best find his holiness unharmed.” The last was directed at Shulivar, who smiled without humor.

“Thank you,” Thara said, biting back a protest at being called ‘his holiness’. Such a title was inappropriate and far above him.

Making his displeasure known, Ishilar made as much noise as possible as he exited the tiny cell, the heavy iron-barred door slamming behind him, the lock clicking back into place.

 

Thara waited until the corporal’s footsteps receded back down the halls, leaving them in peace, before turning to address Shulivar. He looked at the man whose traitorous and murderous deeds he’d uncovered, this time with a cleric’s compassion instead of an undercover Witness’ suspicion. Even a criminal such as Shulivar deserved the chance to go to Ulis without fear.

For a long moment, Shulivar just stared at him with an intensity that unnerved Thara. It was as if his clever blue eyes could pierce through the mask and robes that hid Thara from view. He felt naked.

When it became clear that Shulivar was not going to speak without prompting, Thara made an open-palmed gesture, a way of encouraging him to open conversation. Now that they were alone, he could resume the rites as ceremony intended, in unjudging silence.

“I suppose you are expecting me to make some sort of confession now,” Shulivar said, a strange mirth dancing in his eyes, “but that isn’t why I asked for last rites.”

Thara tilted his head in silent question.

“And you are not who I expected to be giving them to me, _zhornu_ Helemar,” Shulivar continued, a smile playing at his full lips. “But I consider that fortuitous.”

In his chest, Thara’s heart was hammering. His voice had indeed given him away. Shulivar knew who he was, or, at least, who he had pretended to be in Amalo. He put his back to the cold iron bars to feel something solid and stable, hoping it might steady him. He would not let this man get the better of him.

Shulivar shifted on the plank bench and then rose to his feet, so tall it seemed he could reach up and touch the low stone ceiling of the cell. He walked toward Thara, and despite himself Thara watched the length of chain shackled to his ankle to see how far it might let him go. Shulivar stopped before the chain ran out, and before he reached Thara. He stood a few paces away, looking far too pleased with himself.

“I know that a cleric of Ulis can grant a prisoner a last request as part of their last rites. Is that correct?” Shulivar said.

Thara considered, and nodded. _Within reason_ , he did not add aloud.

“Good. There is something I want of thee…” His eyes found Thara’s through the slits of his mask and and locked on them. “Although, tell me, art truly a cleric of Ulis, or is that also a lie?”

“We are sanctified,” Thara hissed, his voice like sandpaper across stone, incensed to the point of breaking his silence yet again. It did not escape his notice that Shulivar was now being very familiar with him indeed, with no respect for his role or for Ulis at all.

A soft huff of laughter escaped Shulivar. “A bit of honesty at last, then. And the looks didst direct my way when I thought we were of the same cloth, were those also a misdirection, or do we truly share the same desires?”

Thara’s mouth went dry. He supposed he should be glad that his attention to Shulivar had been identified as desirous; perhaps at the time that had blinded Shulivar to the fact that Thara was observing far more than just his physique. But to be caught and correctly assumed marnis sparked an old anxiety in him. He said nothing, gave no gesture to either confirm or deny Shulivar’s observation.

“Perhaps I should speak more bluntly.” Shulivar stepped closer to Thara, close enough that he was mere inches away. From this distance, the madness was clear in his eyes—as was the lust. “My last request is for a little death, before the final one comes. Wilt grant me that?”

Thara closed his eyes and took a shallow breath. “That—that is highly unorthodox and not a request a cleric of Ulis can fulfill. If you wished a prayer spoken for you, or a letter mailed to your family--”

That, Shulivar waved off. Then he reached out and hooked his fingers under the edge of Thara’s moon mask. “And if I am asking the man behind the mask, and not the cleric of Ulis? What then?” He lifted the mask, exposing Thara’s shocked face. “Wilt have me, false _zhornu_ , once, before I die?”

A whirlwind of thoughts and emotions swirled through Thara. There was sharp thrill of fear mixed with excitement. The undercurrent of deep longing within him, a desire unfulfilled and a need unmet for so long, surged achingly fast and hard to the surface. 

He could—it would be so easy, to give in, to have that desire slaked.

A familiar bitterness rose in his throat, his self-loathing rising to such a pitch for even considering it that it threatened to consume him as surely as the fire of his unsated lust burned him up from the inside. He closed his eyes to shut out the sight of Shulivar before him, above him—beautiful, goblin-dark and full of grace and frenetic strength, magnetizing. The man was a murderer, a madman—a man not worth throwing away his life for. Thara felt his heart lurch as he thought of Edrehasivar, of the Archprelate. What would they think of him were he to give in to lust?

Shulivar’s fingers smoothed over Thara’s cheek, cupping his face. Thara refused to lean into the soft caress, holding himself still and rigid as stone, his eyes still shut tight. He gasped as he felt teeth close on the edge of one ear, a hot tongue then tracing the shell of it. It made him shudder, heat pooling low in his belly despite the loathing he also felt for Shulivar.

Would Ulis look away this time? Would the Archprelate forgive him once more, were he to succumb to his base desires yet again? Would the excuse of granting a dying man’s last wish be enough to absolve him of guilt?

Thara thought not.

“Time is ticking, _zhornu_. The guard will soon return,” Shulivar whispered, his breath hot in Thara’s ear.

Though his breath was coming fast and shallow, and his traitorous cock throbbed beneath his robes. Thara rasped, “No. I am not your _zhornu_ , and I will not--”

He pulled away as far as he could with his back already to the iron bars and turned his face away. With what little strength of will he had, Thara had chosen to do the right thing this time.

Shulivar clicked his tongue disdainfully. “That’s not the answer I was expecting.”

Without warning, Shulivar’s strong hands gripped Thara’s wrists and twisted him around like a rag doll, slamming him face-first into the iron bars of the cell. Thara’s cheek throbbed and his wrists ached, and distantly he thought he heard his mask clatter to the floor. The light of the lamp outside the cell was dazzling his eyes. More pressing, both literally and figuratively, was the heavy weight of Shulivar’s body pinning him down. He should have paid more heed to how far the chain shackling Shulivar extended. He had full range within the cell, it seemed. Range enough and strength enough to have overpowered Thara without trouble.

“You damn yourself,” Thara said breathlessly as he felt Shulivar lift his robes and yank down his breech clout. Thara shuddered. Then he felt Shulivar’s thigh pressing between his legs to part them.

No amount of struggling was enough to shake Shulivar off.

Shulivar laughed, the sound sending more of a chill through Thara than did the cold, dank air hitting his exposed skin. “The gods hold no more power over me than any man does. I have nothing left to live for and nothing left to fear.” Cloth rustled and then the hot length of Shulivar’s cock pressed against the cleft of Thara’s ass. “And I have no qualms about taking what I want by whatever means necessary. Surely hast figured that out by now.”

Making good on his word, Shulivar began rutting against Thara’s buttocks with no heed to the way Thara tensed and tried to pull away. It was useless. And, despite himself, Thara was hard and aching. Shame burned through his entire body at how good it felt to have another’s skin pressed to his, another man’s cock sliding hot and hard against his burning flesh.

It was rough, quick—Shulivar’s early seed providing just enough slickness to allow his cock to slide between the tensed and rounded cheeks of Thara’s ass. His breath was hot and loud in Thara’s ears, and, Ulis help him, Thara was _enjoying_ the sound of it, too. He gasped then groaned aloud when Shulivar smacked one cheek with his free hand once then again, the sting of it sharply pleasurable.

“’No’, was it?” Shulivar panted, slamming his cock deeper into Thara’s cleft.

Tears prickled in the corners of Thara’s eyes. “No.” The word was barely a whisper, belied by his traitorous body’s eagerness for more.

As Shulivar moved, the repeated wet smack of his hips and cock against Thara’s bare ass seeming deafening in the echoing prison, Thara wondered when it would happen… when Shulivar would breach him. He braced himself for further pain and humiliation, all the while hating the incongruous spark of yearning in his body at the idea of being filled.

But Shulivar seemed content without. Instead, Shulivar’s long fingers stole between Thara’s body and the cold iron bars to wrap around his cock. Thara could not help the way his hips snapped forward into that grasp.

Not since Evru had another man touched him so. 

Shulivar’s hand was calloused and rough, the pace of his strokes too quick, and yet it sent jolts of pleasure singing through Thara’s nerves, turning his legs wobbly and his stones tight. Shame and guilt and terrified horror roiled in his gut, and with a wordless, ragged cry, Thara came.

Shulivar laughed again, the sound ringing off the empty stone of the Nevennamire, low and throaty and entirely mad. He thrust once, twice, thrice, and then stilled taut and straining as he spurted between Thara’s buttocks and up onto his lower back.

He released Thara then and drew away, his chain rattling as he moved.

Weakly, Thara gripped the bars of the door, trying to catch his breath as he fought back a wave of nausea. With shaking hands he smoothed down his robes, then reached to the ground to retrieve his breech clout. This, he used to hastily wipe away the rapidly cooling sticky mess of seed from his skin before hastily shoving it into a pocket. He could not leave it for the guards to find. No one else could know of this.

The echo of footsteps coming closer through the halls spurred Thara to quicken his pace. Swallowing thickly, he picked up his moon mask and covered his face with it once more. At least he could hide behind it. The bruises, the shame, the shock and disgust would all stay hidden and his alone. His shaking hands he tucked beneath his sleeves.

When Corporal Ishilar appeared on the other side of the cell door and began unlocking it, Thara forced himself to give him a measured nod in greeting. Ishilar gave a curt nod back before ushering Thara out and slamming the door on Shulivar again. Thara did not look back on Shulivar as he turned to leave.

“Wait.” Ishilar’s hand on his shoulder nearly startled Thara out of his skin. Had he noticed something amiss? Would there be questions? Thara closed his eyes and swallowed hard.

“Show some respect, Shulivar,” Ishilar barked. “Aren’t you going to thank the good cleric?”

No, Thara thought. This was worse still.

“Of course. Forgive me,” Shulivar said, his voice poisonously smooth and genial. “Thank you, your _holiness_. I can die happily now.”

Anger and disgust tightened Thara’s throat. He bowed curtly and broke away from Ishilar’s well-meaning hand on his shoulder, then began walking until he was out of sight of Shulivar’s cell. 

Ishilar soon caught up. Thankfully, he did not attempt to make much conversation on their way back out of the Nevennamire, except to comment that clerics of Ulis were better men and women than he. If it were him, he’d’ve let Shulivar stew in what he’d done, mercy be damned, he said.

Thara did not respond.

Silently, he prayed to Ulis to welcome Shulivar without malice. With the feel of Shulivar’s touch still ricocheting through his nerves and the shame of their encounter still burning in his gut, Thara could not, and might never forgive him.

Or himself.


End file.
